Magic Is Freedom
by Angelo Della Magnolia
Summary: "Freedom is still the most radical idea of all." It had been the phrase that had shaped his youth-filled years, the words he had lived by and breathed. The words that had ruined him.


**Warning for**

 **All Challenges and Competitions written below.**

 **Word Count: 1140.**

* * *

He is old now; bones trembling with each shaking step and skin cracked and calloused and faded of the bright sheen of youth. Still, on the days when his legs don't give out and his eyesight doesn't falter, he hobbles his way towards the edge of the mountain, weather-worn cane in one gnarled hand and leather-bound book in the other.

Towering pines scatter amongst the rocky terrain, peppering a canvas of muted greys with splashes of deep green and tarnished golden brown. Mist wreaths the forest, rising from beneath the ground like a solemn shroud. It threads and coils along the sharp lines of spiky leaves and prickling pinecones, shifting and moving with the grace of an ethereal being.

It is exactly how he remembers it.

The birdsong ceases as he limps closer, fluttering wings drop into silence as the birds disappear from view, their iridescent feathers devoured by the shadows. He sits down on the smooth surface of a rock, placing the cane by his side and the leather-bound book in his lap.

His hand traces an absent pattern along the curved golden letters imprinted into the black leather, breaths a low flutter as he murmurs the words, _"Freedom is still the most radical idea of all."_

It had been the phrase that had shaped his youth-filled years, the words he had lived by and breathed. The words that had ruined him.

* * *

"You might like this!"

That is how it always is; there is no greeting, no awkward shuffling and stilted small-talk, just an exclamation. Castor bounds towards him, eyes sparkling bright and smile gleaming as he frantically waves something fluttering in his hands.

Ben grins, joining in Castor's adrenaline-fueled happiness as he sets off on a sprint to meet the other boy. They crash in the middle, limbs tangling and lips meeting as they collapse onto the forest floor, sharp leaves and dead branches digging into their backs.

Later, after they'd manage to pry away from the welcoming warmth of the other, Ben sits with his legs crossed on the ground, picking pine needles off of Castor's gleaming hair. His hand dips from the silky golden curls, trailing along the smooth expanse of the skin where Castor's neck meets his shoulders. "What were you going to show me?"

Castor blinks for a second, eyes darting rapidly from Ben's lip to his eyes. Realisation suddenly lights Castor's eyes as he breathes an exclamation of 'oh!'. Ben watches in amusement as Castor scrambles in search of what he held before, leaves flying in his wake as the blond-haired boy mutters under his breath, "It's here somewhere, I swear."

Finally, Castor throws a victorious hand into the air, clutching a small collection of papers as his lips quirk in a delighted grin. He moves closer to Ben, mouth already forming words as his hands wave the papers animatedly.

"So you know how I went back to Britain last summer right - yeah, I got a few pictures of Hogwarts and Diagon Alley too. See, here's the candy place and the wand place and this place sells the best ice cream."

Ben feels his heart sink as Castor shows him each photo, pointing with barely contained excitement as he continues to ramble, words alight with euphoria.

"Oh! And then I got some pictures of Ilvermorny too - cause you said you always wanted to see the granite castle and all. I'm right there, see, and over there is -"

"Cas," Ben says, and his voice is scarcely louder than a whisper, hardly a sound at all. Castor pauses, cocks his head, hair falling into his face, and frowns.

"Do you not like the photos?" he says, vigour dying as hesitance overtakes the rich, low tenor of his voice.

Ben stops. Slowly, with trembling hands, he takes a photograph from Castor. The paper is smooth and polished, clean to touch. It shows an empty field of overgrown weeds, yellow and dying as the dim sun shines beneath thick, rolling clouds.

"That's the Quidditch field," Castor murmurs over his shoulder, hands finding a purchase along the curve of Ben's waist. "Those are the hoops, and there! The quaffle just flew by!"

Ben only sees a wasteland. He picks up another photograph, this one displaying the forest they were currently sat in. He can hear Castor's happy explanation of "that's Ilvermorny, I mean it's right there if we turn our heads around - we're literally sitting beside it - but hey, I thought a picture would be cool".

Ben turns and is greeted by writhing mist and dark trees that cast inexplicably long shadows. "Cas," he starts again, words slow and tied down by sorrow.

The smile on Castor's face fades. "You don't believe me," he says, voice shaking as his eyes meet Ben's. The hands around his hips shift as Castor moves away.

"It's just . . ." Ben falters, tongue tripping over each sound as he struggles to voice his thoughts, his doubts. "Too magical." He decides finally, forcing the words out in a rush that blurs them together.

He reaches a hand to grasp for Castor's own, and stares in shock when Castor pulls away, curling blond locks hiding his eyes. "I'm magical; by Merlin - I'm a wizard, Ben!"

He reaches a hand to grasp for Castor's own, and stares in shock when Castor pulls away, curling blond locks hiding his eyes. "I'm magical; by Merlin - I'm a wizard, Ben!"

Castor sighs, not giving a response. They sit in silence, the air stilling as the both desperately grab for something, anything, to change the tone and shift the conversation back to what it once was.

"What do you think magic is?" Castor eventually says, his voice clear and void of hesitation or worry; it is hollow. His mouth is set in a firm line as he stares into the empty distance. There is only coldness in his eyes.

Ben follows his gaze, to the towering pines tipped by rolling, grey fog. He knows Castor sees something different, something marvellous and magical. Ben only sees trees.

"An idea."

Castor attempts a smile, lips quirking mirthlessly as he turns to face Ben. Their eyes meet, and this time there is no smouldering glance or lingering look. There is Castor, whirling with emotions as his eyes gleam with what looks like unshed tears. There is Castor, who tries to make light of the situation by saying, his voice cracking as he speaks, _"Then surely, it must be a radical idea."_

His hands clench as Ben bites down on his lips. His next words are a habit, automatic after years of reading and re-reading; a by-product of his brain's inability to handle social situations. It's the quote he has engraved on ever engravable object. It's the quote he's known by.

"Freedom is still the most radical idea of all."

Castor gives him a forlorn glance. "Magic is freedom."

It's the quote that chokes his heart, fills it with lost that looks like smoke and tastes like ash because it is the quote that makes Castor leave.

* * *

 **Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition:**

 _CHASER 3: Ilvermony. (Use the location assigned to your position as the setting for your story)_

Prompts:

1- (image) s5 . favim orig/150131/black-and-white-city-dark-grunge-Favim .

2- (quote) Freedom is still the most radical idea of all. — Nathaniel Branden

6- (poem) Don't Go Far Off — Pablo Neruda

 **The Choose-Your-Wand Challenge:**

Prompts:

 _Wand Core:_ Unicorn tail hair - Write a slash pairing

 **Colours of the Rainbow Challenge:**

Prompts:

 _Orange:_ #1 - Write about an OC

 **The FRIENDS Competition:**

Prompts:

 _TOW The Birth_ : Write about an OC named Ben.

 **Slash/Femmeslash Boot Camp Challenge:**

Prompts:

 _29._ Whisper

 **100 Ways To Say 'I Love You' Challenge:**

Prompts:

 _21._ "You might like this."

 **Pride Month Challenge:**

Prompts:

 _Gay_ – A sexual and affectional orientation toward people of the same gender; can be used as an umbrella term for men and women. For the challenge, I wish this to specifically refer to men.


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